


I Do

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Weddings, a bunch of fluff, these two idiots getting married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Mycroft have been together for a while.  Finally, they tie the knot.  Written for theredheadinquestion as part of the Summer Mystrade Exchange on Tumblr :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRedheadinQuestion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedheadinQuestion/gifts).



> Right now this is just a one-off. I might end up deciding to write a second chapter. Not sure yet though, so we'll see.

Greg woke up with the worst headache known to mankind.  Groaning, he rolled over and tried to bury his face into a pillow that he quickly realized was not his own.  Trying to push past the pain throbbing through him, and the turning his stomach was doing, he rolled back over and slowly blinked his eyes open.  He winced, the light causing his headache to worsen for a moment, but finally, he opened them fully and tried to focus on the room…

…only to come face to face with Sherlock Holmes.

"T-the hell?!" he croaked loudly, heart pounding as he jolted up in bed -  _Sherlock’s bed_ \- and tried to move away from the consulting detective.  Sherlock looked highly unamused.

 

“ _Finally_ , you’re awake,” Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes in what seemed like annoyance that they were even having this conversation. “Do us both a favor and get out of my bed now.”

 

Greg groaned again, frowning and turning his face back into the pillow.  Okay, he was way too hung-over to deal with Sherlock right now.  His head felt like it was being split open with a jackhammer.

 

“ ** _John_**!!” Sherlock shouted, making Greg wince.   Yeah, that definitely didn’t help. Bastard.  He felt the bed shift as the detective supposedly got off the mattress and wandered out, fussing at the man in question about Greg still being in his bed.  He was fairly certain John was fussing right back for his behavior, but Greg didn’t really catch everything.  His head was throbbing too much for him to focus.

 

Finally, there was a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he blinked and slowly turned towards the touch.  It was John this time, thank god, who looked extremely exhausted but still had an apologetic smile on his face.  Greg grunted, sighing and finally rolling over and sitting up. He definitely did that too fast, though. His head spun and the entire room lurched as his stomach protested greatly to the shift in gravity. Having to shut his eyes again, Greg took a deep breath through his nose to push down the nausea that was threatening to bubble up.  There was no way he was going to let himself become sick on someone else’s bed.  Especially not Sherlock’s, because he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he did.

 

“Easy there, Greg,” John whispered, reaching out with a steadying hand that Greg was very grateful for.  He took another deep breath through his nose, before scrubbing his face roughly with one hand.

 

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking due to his dry throat.  He ran a hand through his hair and focused on what he could remember so he wouldn’t focus on how sick he still felt.

 

“Your stag night,” John sighed, but chuckled softly. “We got pretty hammered, mate.”

 

The stag night.  That was right.  His stag night was last night.  He scrubbed his face again, trying to gather any kind of moisture in his mouth. It felt dry and cottony and gross. He remembered John organizing it, and going out with a bunch of colleagues from the Yard.  He remembered that they went to multiple bars. He remembered that he didn’t have to buy himself a single drink.  That explained why he couldn’t remember much else.

 

“When you feel like you can move, I’ve got the kettle on,” John continued after a moment, thankfully still speaking softly. Greg wondered how bad his own hangover was.  Ever the doctor, however, it wasn’t as glaringly obvious for him as it sure was for Greg. He had more practice in things like that. “Get some tea, water, and some toast in you.  It’s still early enough that we’ll have time to get it properly nursed before everything starts.”

 

Greg managed a nod and a soft grunt in appreciation, before John got up and left him as well.  He wasn’t sure what time it was, but if John wasn’t concerned, then Greg wouldn’t worry about it.  In hindsight, perhaps having the stag night the day before the wedding wasn’t the best idea. He’d briefly thought about suggesting doing it the weekend prior, because he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but here they were.  He had a hangover to kick; he was getting married today.

 

*

 

It had still taken Greg a bit to actually get up on his feet (and _stay_ on his feet since he’d all but collapsed back onto the bed the first time he’d stood). Finally though, he was opening the bedroom door, where he practically kicked a very familiar duffle bag. That’s right, that had been the bag he’d packed the night before.  He’d arranged to stay the night at Baker Street anyway, partially so Mycroft wouldn’t have to deal with him drunk, and partially because of tradition.

 

Bending slowly, he picked it up and took it with him into the bathroom.  He pulled out a change of clothes and turned the shower on, stripping down in the middle of the room and wandering over to the sink.  He cupped his hands under the water, leaning forward to splash his face and rinse his mouth out a few times.  He contemplated brushing, but if he was about to drink tea, he’d prefer to wait until after that.  So instead, he climbed into the shower and let the water fall down on him, standing for a bit before scrubbing himself clean.

 

Wandering down the short corridor and into the kitchen afterwards, he felt loads better.  On the table, there was a fresh cup of tea, a plate with two slices of toast, and a bottle of Paracetamol waiting for him.  Greg smiled, taking the meds and washing them down with a generous swig of tea.

 

“There he is,” John commented with a grin as he walked in to refill his own teacup. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better now,” Greg smiled, picking up a slice of toast. “More human.”

 

“Me too,” John laughed.  There was a snort of derision from the direction of the sitting room that was causing John to roll his eyes in exasperation. Greg just chuckled.

 

“Please tell me I didn’t sleep with Sherlock last night,” he commented after finishing his first piece of toast. John laughed again at that.

 

“No, ‘course not.  You and I slept in the bed.”

 

“And I was confined to the sofa, because the two of you were belligerent idiots when you got here,” Sherlock snapped.

 

Greg could hear him typing away on a laptop, practically abusing the poor keys, as he no doubt scowled at the screen in front of him. He couldn’t help but frown a bit in hearing that.  He had planned to sleep on the sofa, and it had never been his intention to kick Sherlock out of his own bed.  Drunk or not, he was a guest, and that was rather rude.

 

“Don’t worry about him,” John commented gently, reading the expression on his face and shaking his head. “He’ll never admit it, but he _gave_ you his side of the bed last night.  All that’s an act. He does love you, after all. In his own way.”

 

Greg couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d always known that Sherlock cared about him.  It was sweet. It made him proud that he would be gaining the detective as a true brother-in-law, even if he would never actually call him his brother.  Unless, of course, it was to really get on his nerves. 

 

“Thanks for all this,” he said instead of the million other sentimental things running through his mind, waving his second piece of toast in the air.

 

“Think nothing of it,” John beamed, sipping his tea. “It’s what best men are supposed to do, after all.”

 

*

 

“A few messages for you.”

 

Mycroft hummed, glancing up briefly to gaze at his PA Anthea, before turning back to the closet open in front of him.

 

“The Prime Minister is requesting an audience,” she continued without being prompted, glancing down at the ever-present Blackberry in her hand. “He said he must talk to you about the treaty agreements with Russia.  He still seems strongly opposed to some of the finer points, but overall it doesn’t seem urgent. I told him we’d schedule him in next week, when you’re available again.”

 

Mycroft nodded, pulling out the black tuxedo hanging in his closet.  He shifted, unzipping the bag that it was hanging in protectively, and staring at the clothing peeking back out at him.  He had worn many suits in his lifetime, and quite a few tuxedos, but this one… This would be the most important one of his entire life.  It was strange thinking that about something as honestly mundane as a tuxedo, yet he was.

 

“Another from our favorite Korean diplomat, sending his regards for all those meetings and arrangements we had to suffer through,” Anthea continued, not batting an eye to Mycroft’s lack of response. “Apparently things are setting into motion more noticeably after them, and so far they’re working out for the best.”

 

“As I told him multiple times,” Mycroft snorted, rolling his eyes.  Some day people would listen to him.  Annoying.

 

“And finally, one from Liz.  She said while she cannot come by today, she is sending a gift for the two of you, as well as her well wishes.”

 

Mycroft had expected as much.  She was the Queen, after all.  He would have been shocked if her security detail had been able to work out her coming, and no doubt Gregory would have stammered through everything had he seen her in attendance, so he supposed that had worked out for the best. The thought of it made him smile anyway.

 

“Thank you, Anthea,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before turning back to the tux and pulling everything out of the bag. “Is there anything else?”

 

“No,” she replied, typing away on the Blackberry. “Your schedule has been properly cleared.  I will be going ahead with the things that don’t necessarily require your presence, and everything else has been rescheduled.  I have also reconfirmed all of the proper reservations for the two of you. I have emailed what I could, and the rest is in a folder in the front of your luggage.”

 

Mycroft nodded.  As he was in the process of untying his robe, he heard her even footsteps leaving the room to give him privacy.  He let his robe fall to the floor and began to slowly clothe himself in each silky layer, feeling his stomach flutter more and more as he got dressed. Finally, he was tying his royal blue tie (it was one of Gregory’s favorites), and just staring at himself in the mirror.

 

It was surely nerves he was feeling in his stomach, but it was a senseless feeling.  At the end of the day, he and Gregory would be saying their vows and coming out of it as married men.  There was nothing that would change the outcome, so the rest of it was just for show. He had organized a good majority of their wedding, because that’s the kind of man he was, but in all honesty he would have been perfectly fine if they had gone to get the paperwork signed with their witnesses in tow and be done with it.

 

Gregory had reminded him of their families, however, and how they would want to be present.  Mycroft had grimaced at the thought of it all, but in the end, it made sense. Besides, he realized it would have been better to have the ceremony and get it over with, instead of listening to people bringing it up in attempt to guilt trip them for years to come. He knew for a fact his mother would be one of those people, and that was something he desperately wanted to avoid, so a ceremony they were having.

 

With a soft sigh, Mycroft ran his hands up and down the jacket, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles, and buttoned it up. As usual, he wanted to go down to the venue early to make sure everything would be in order. Picking up his mobile, he glanced at the single text he’d gotten since waking that morning, smiling affectionately at it.

 

_Love you. Can’t wait to see you later and kiss you in front of everybody.  –G_

 

*

 

Greg was fine the entire time he nursed away his hangover. He was fine as he stopped by his home to drop off his bag and grab everything he needed.  He was fine the entire drive out of London. He was even fine as they approached the venue, got inside, and went up to a room designated for him.

 

Now, he stood in the middle of this ridiculously huge bedroom in Luton Hoo, Bedfordshire.  It was slightly rounded, with five windows letting in plenty of natural light. There was a large bed in one end, a table next to it, and a dresser across from it.  In the middle of the room was a sofa and two cushioned chairs, all surrounding another small table.  He had dropped his things on that table, and now stood in front of a full-length mirror next to the dresser, adjusting his tie for what felt like at least the twentieth time.

 

Now he was nervous.  This place was insane.  He’d only ever heard of it from when Queen Elizabeth would come here with the Duke of Edinburgh to celebrate their wedding anniversaries, something he knew was a huge boasting point for the place, and finally seeing it made sense. It felt very _royal_.  Everything about the place was elegant, yet simplistic, and as intimidated as he was, it also just worked.  Mycroft was elegant and simplistic, and this just… seemed to fit.

 

Squaring his shoulders, he adjusted his tie yet again (it really didn’t need it anymore at this point but it gave his hands something to do) and shifted his weight a bit.  He sighed through his nose before glancing out of the window next to him, gazing out at the gardens and the fountain in the middle of hedge paths. There was nothing set up outside, so he assumed everything would be indoors.  It made sense too, of course, because he knew how much Mycroft hated being in direct sunlight.  Greg loved it, though, because it basically guaranteed the appearance of a few more freckles. He grinned to himself at the thought, but after a moment, there was a knock on the door that startled him a bit.

 

“Who is it?” he called out, glancing back at himself in the mirror and licking his lips.

 

“It’s John,” came his mate’s voice on the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

 

“Yup, it’s open.”

 

He kept staring in the mirror as he heard the door opening and closing behind him.  He ran a hand through his hair, fiddling with the silvery strands as absently as he had been with his tie, and finally glanced over his shoulder when John popped into the reflection.

 

“All right?” he asked, a grin on his face. Greg huffed out a chuckle and nodded.

 

“Yeah, just…” Greg started, messing with his hair again. He nodded again, however, breathing through his nose and settling on that. “Yeah.”

 

“Here,” John said, holding out a glass of champagne. “Figured you could use some.  Since you’re well over your hangover now and no doubt nervous, I snatched this on the way to you.”

 

“Ta John,” Greg grinned, forcing himself to turn away from the mirror for good and take the offered glass.  He hummed after his first drink of the bubbly champagne, letting it settle for a second before swallowing.  He wasn’t the biggest fan of champagne, not when there were plenty of good wines or beers to have instead, but this was good stuff. It helped to settle his nerves a little bit, which he was extremely grateful for, and he took another slow breath once he’d finished it and set the glass down on the table.

 

“Seen Mycroft?” he couldn’t help but ask after a moment, walking over to plug his mobile into the charger.  He had thought about taking it with him, but everyone who would normally contact him was here, and there would be plenty of pictures taken that he didn’t have to worry about that.

 

“Yeah, briefly,” John nodded, taking a turn in front of the mirror to check his own outfit and hair. “Sherlock is with him. At least, I hope so. Had to force him to the room, but when I left he was still there.”

 

Greg laughed softly.  That wasn’t surprising in the least.  He hoped that Sherlock would try to behave at least a little bit during all this. He had no doubt that John would keep him in line, though, so he wasn’t too worried about it. Hopefully he wasn’t driving Mycroft around the bend right now, though.  That would be the last thing the older Holmes needed, what with him taking charge of everything.  Greg hadn’t minded, and neither had Mycroft.  It had just worked out that way.

 

“Greg?” came a new voice on the other side of the door. Greg exchanged a quick smile with John as his mother Annabeth slipped into the room.

 

“Mum, don’t tell me you’ve been crying already?” he laughed gently, walking towards her as he was quickly engulfed in a huge hug.

 

“Hush, your father has already given me grief about it,” she sniffled, hugging him tightly. “This place is so beautiful. I’m just so proud.”

 

“ _Muuum_ ,” he sighed, rubbing his face as she stepped away and beamed up at him.

 

“You hush, I said,” she smiled, brown eyes glistening. “Let’s take a good look at you, yes?”

 

*

 

“This place is absurd,” Sherlock huffed, dramatically flopping down on one of the tan sofas in the room he was currently with Mycroft. The older Holmes was leaning against a large oak desk to the left of the unnecessary square of sofas he was relaxing in.  Mycroft looked up briefly, taking in his stretched-out form, and sighed before turning back to his mobile.

 

“No, this place is _refined_ ,” Mycroft corrected, typing a message to Anthea and crossed his ankles.

 

“You could’ve just done all this at Buckingham Palace if this was what you were looking to achieve,” Sherlock drawled, lifting an arm and rolling his hand in a slow circle.

 

“Sit up, you’re wrinkling your tuxedo,” Mycroft snapped.

 

“Who cares,” Sherlock shrugged, pointedly stretching along the couch even more noticeably instead of actually getting up.

 

“ **I** care. And seeing that it is my wedding day, for once would you bloody well just do the simple things I ask?” Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.  His mobile alerted a new message from Anthea and he scanned it quickly, typing his final reply before pocketing the device.

 

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and letting his arm fall onto his chest with a light thud.  After a moment, however, he did actually get up, stretching his lanky limbs and pressing his lips together in a pouty frown as he straightened his jacket. Mycroft quirked a slight smile, quick to let it fade before the younger Holmes noticed it.

 

“So…” Sherlock prompted as he turned and walked over to a fireplace, glancing at himself in the mirror hanging above it. “ _Marriage_. You and Lestrade.”

 

“Yes, that is why we’re all here,” Mycroft smirked, watching the array of emotions flitting across his brother’s face for the briefest of seconds. “You do realize this means you’ll be related to him now, right?”

 

“Yes…” Sherlock said after a moment, eyes glancing at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m not making a speech.”

 

“Brother mine, I have not expected that of you from the moment I request you to be my best man,” Mycroft said, smiling a bit more genuinely. “In fact, I would implore that you do not attempt any kind of speech and leave that up to your other half.”

 

“Yes, well,” Sherlock snorted, turning and watching Mycroft curiously. “John is better with _people_.”

 

“As is Gregory.”

 

An odd sort of silence fell between them. It was not an uncommon thing when they were together, as if they were both recalling times when things were easier between them.  Mycroft knew he was, but he couldn’t be sure about Sherlock.  Did the younger Holmes ever think about a time when they didn’t aggravate each other?

 

“I never expected anything like this out of you,” Sherlock admitted, glancing down at the floor briefly.  Mycroft blinked. “This marriage deal.  So ordinary.”

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “However, it just seems right.  I do want to spend my life with Gregory, you know.  Funny how the two of us have discovered the positive side of sentiment.”

 

“You say that like John and I are going to go through all this.”

 

“Aren’t you?” Mycroft asked, giving Sherlock a very knowing look.  Sherlock’s shoulders stiffened just slightly and his eyes hardened, but then he sighed as he deflated.

 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted, concern and honestly showing on his face. “Why would John want to condemn himself to spending the rest of his life with me?”

 

“I asked myself the same question,” Mycroft said, checking his mobile for the time before pocketing it again. “But don’t you think they’ve already condemned themselves to be with us for the rest of their lives, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line.  Mycroft smiled without being patronizing, and the younger Holmes glanced at him.

 

“Perhaps,” Sherlock agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as well.

 

“Well, as disinclined as I am to end this time with you, dear brother, it is time we make our way down,” Mycroft said after a moment, pushing gently off the desk he’d been leaning on and starting to walk across the room. He adjusted his tuxedo jacket and tie again as he paused at the door, Sherlock on his heels.

 

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, glancing at Mycroft for a moment as he stepped past him and out into the hall. “I need to reserve my spot near the cake early to prevent you from consuming it all in front of your guests. That would be quite an embarrassment, I believe.”

 

Mycroft sighed and just rolled his eyes.

 

*

 

The ceremony and reception were set up to take place inside.  As Mycroft had said early on in planning, he had no desire to compete with the natural elements. Even so, there was a patio area set up with a bar that overlooked the ornate garden behind the hotel.

 

The setup for the ceremony itself was in a medium-sized room with white walls and beige trim around all the windows, with a circular area in one end where three chandeliers hung.  The curved ceiling had renaissance paintings on them, and the arch was decorated in a light brown marble.  There were rows of seating for the guests, which admittedly was a rather small list.  Both men had preferred keeping it a simple affair, not wanting to worry about hundreds of people milling around.

 

The room next to this one was where the reception portion would be held.  It was a larger room, and while it held the same white walls and beige trim, it was a lot more simplistic in its other decorations than the smaller room.  Tan curtains hung in each window, with a few columns through the room in the same color.  The floor was covered in round, clothed tables, all centered generally around a smaller straight table where Greg and Mycroft would be seated.  Each table held a centerpiece of white bouquets and bottles of wine, with place settings complete with tan napkins to match the room.

 

Guests had started filtering in, but neither man of the hour had made an appearance yet.  This was intentional.  Being that neither of them was classified as a ‘bride’, neither man would walk dramatically down the aisle to music with everyone staring.  No, they had decided to meet each other at the front of the room and walk down together.  It was really what suited them best.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were seated early on, along with Mr. Lestrade.  Mrs. Lestrade came in slightly after, having finally been pushed away by Greg so he could finish getting ready.  From there, not many other people had been on the guest list.  The majority of Greg’s colleagues from the Yard were there, of course. Anthea was there, though she was partially running surveillance as well as attending.  Mrs. Hudson had turned up, of course.  A few low-profile politicians that Mycroft got on with rather well were there.  A couple of Greg’s old rugby teammates had shown, as well as Mike Stamford, who had recently joined him and John in their trips to the pub.  Overall, it was no more than thirty people, and it was rather perfect.

 

Sherlock and John arrived first, walking down the aisle. John smiled at everyone, while Sherlock practically ignored them as usual.  Regardless, the crime-solving couple got some knowing looks that made Sherlock’s eyes rather quickly roll into the back of his head and sigh. John shot him the ‘behave yourself’ glare as they parted, settled into their spots on either side of the officiant performing the ceremony.

 

Greg had come down with John and was lingering at the entrance of the room.  His heart was pounding as he peered inside at everything.  This solidified things in a way that hadn’t been until now. Through the proposal and all the preparation, he supposed it had never truly sunk in.  Now here he was, listening to the calm music being played, seeing his friends and family gathered in the room…

 

He glanced over his shoulder, running a hand through his hair as he looked for Mycroft.  He figured the younger man was close, being that Sherlock was there, and it was almost time…

 

“Gregory?” came a smooth voice that made Greg’s heart flutter.  He turned and grinned brightly, taking in the sight of his soon-to-be-husband standing before him in a matching tuxedo.  He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

“Mycroft,” he said, voice trembling just slightly. Pale eyes warmly met his own brown, and Mycroft smiled affectionately.

 

“Shall we my dear?” Mycroft asked, reaching out for his hand.  Greg glanced down at it, slender and pale and _gorgeous_. He felt his whole body trembling. This was it.  Licking his lips, he reached out and took the offered hand, squeezing tightly.

 

“I want to kiss you right now,” he blurted out as they slowly made their way to the doors.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Well, as much as I would like to agree, that would defeat the whole purpose of the next ten minutes, wouldn’t you say?” the politician asked, arching an eyebrow as he grinned.  Nervous, relieved laughter bubbled out of Greg and he nodded, eyes brimming with emotional, happy tears.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, squeezing the hand in his again. “Yeah, I suppose it would.”

 

*

 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, the joining of two hearts, and to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite these two men in marriage.”

 

They had both wanted a simple ceremony: very basic, quick, and easy enough to follow.  They stood under the marble arch, facing each other as the officiant spoke rehearsed words, holding hands and gazing at one another happily. All eyes were on Greg and Mycroft, and it gave the older of the two a nervous flutter in his stomach along with everything else.  He had been the one to go through this before, but of _course_ he was the one who was ridiculously nervous over everything. Mycroft, as always, was calm and collection and amazing.

 

“Should there be anyone who has cause as to why this couple should not be united, speak now.”

 

Mycroft looked away from Greg long enough to shoot a quick glare at his brother.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed through his nose, and a ripple of soft laughter sounded in the small crowd.  Greg bit his lip to keep in the laughter of his own that was threatening to sound, and instead, he just squeezed Mycroft’s hands as their eyes met again.

 

“Today we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives.  For them, out of the routine and bustle of ordinary life, the extraordinary happened. They met each other, fell in love, and have chosen to finalize this bond with this wedding.  A good marriage must be created.  It is never being too old to hold hands.  It’s remembering to say I Love You often, and it is not just marrying the right person, it’s being the right partner.”

 

Greg felt a bit of a self-conscious nerve flood through him at this part.  The vows. They had written their own vows, but had decided to keep it simple as well.  It was part of the many soft conversations they’d had over the course of planning, curled up in bed or on the couch together, or while sharing breakfast in the morning.  Mycroft was always precise and quick when it came to his words, so they discussed keeping it short, hitting whatever high points they wanted to, and moving on. They didn’t need to say anything, honestly.  It was all being said all ready.

 

“Mycroft, when I met you, you were bloody infuriating,” Greg started, grinning brightly.  Mycroft blinked, but quirked a smile and rubbed the back of the older man’s hand with his thumb. “Whisking me away to parts unknown.  Me, a copper.  But thanks to your arrogant brother making his way onto my crime scenes, we met. I was such a hot head at the time, but little did I know that it was the most important meeting of my life. It’s something you remind me of daily.”

 

He huffed a chuckle, beaming proudly. He noticed how Sally had shaken her head at the mention of Sherlock brushing into the crime scenes, and it sent another wave of amusement through him.  He felt like he was about to burst with emotion.  It was taking every ounce of self-control to not fling himself into Mycroft’s arms and sod the rest of the ceremony.

 

“I honestly still don’t know what it is about me that drew your attention, or your love.  But whatever it is, I’m eternally grateful for it.  We’ve had our ups and downs, but I can’t remember a time where I was happy without you, and I never want to find out again.”

 

There were a few sniffles in front of them, most noticeably from Greg’s mum.  That woman couldn’t keep her control whatsoever.  He adored her. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gazed up at his partner, as heads slowly turned to focus on Mycroft.

 

“I’ve never had much stock on unions like this,” Mycroft started, his entire focus on Greg’s eyes as he continued to rub his hand slowly. “I’ve never had much stock on relationships in general, as you all well know.  However, I was fooling myself in thinking that we were just going to be effective colleagues. You care _so much_ , more than I ever thought possible.  You took charge with Sherlock in the most dire of times in his life, and you were a beacon of light in our lives at a time I didn’t think we could get.”

 

“Oh Mycroft…” Mummy Holmes sighed, smiling fondly and squeezing her husband’s hand.  Even Sherlock shifted his weight a bit, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing down briefly.

 

“For the first time, caring was not a weakness. You made caring worth whatever risks came along with it, and I am constantly surprised how you manage to put up with me as you do.” He smirked, and Greg couldn’t hold back the wavering laughter that came out of him.  He squeezed Mycroft’s hands tightly. “You’ve turned every day into an adventure, which is something I never thought I’d say, and you continue to surprise me.”

 

Greg bit his bottom lip, his head spinning slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard most of that in one way or another, but even still, in this context, it was so intense.  He watched his partner too, gazing into pale eyes that were showing so much emotion. Mycroft let his mask fall when they were home alone, but here in front of other people… They were both battling their most intense emotions right now, clearly.

 

“Mycroft Holmes,” the officiant said, taking over again. “Do you take Greg Lestrade to be your husband?  Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?”

 

“I do,” Mycroft nodded, speaking the words with the familiar, unwavering confidence everyone was familiar with.

 

“Greg Lestrade, do you take Mycroft Holmes to be your husband?  Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?”

 

“Damn right I do,” Greg responded cheekily, grinning as big and bright as he possibly could.  Soft laughter rippled through everyone again.

 

“The rings,” the officiant prompted, glancing at the best men.  John and Sherlock both reached into their respective pockets, pulling out the simple golden bands they had been put in charge of.  Turning, they handed them to the officiant, who lifted his hands up in the air slightly.

 

“Wedding rings are an unbroken circle of love, signifying to all the union of this couple in marriage.” The man held out the rings, and for the first time since the beginning of the ceremony, Greg and Mycroft released each other’s hands so they could take the rings.  Mycroft tilted his head in curious prompting, and in response, Greg held out his left hand flat.

 

“Gregory Lestrade,” Mycroft started, recalling the scripted words they had gone over the evening before. “This ring is my sacred gift, along with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honor you all the days of my life.  With this ring, I thee wed.”

 

Slowly, he slipped the golden band onto Greg’s hand. Greg watched silently as it slid on, recalling how Mycroft had scoffed just slightly at the way this part was to be worded.  However, just then he said it flawlessly, proudly, and Greg had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. He licked his lips once the ring was on, glancing at the way it sat on his hand, before withdrawing as Mycroft set his hand out flat.

 

“Mycroft Holmes, this ring is my sacred gift, along with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you, and honor you all the days of my life.  With this ring, I thee happily wed,” he recited, sliding on Mycroft’s ring as well.

 

The politician had worn wedding bands before, when they’d met and through a majority of their relationship (it had belonged to their grandfather, he’d told him once).  While the pieces of jewelry were the exact same, this one just looked different. Perhaps it was the sentiment and knowledge behind this one.  This one was put on his finger by Greg.  It just felt right. After a beat, they rejoined their hands together again, feeling the cool metal on the other’s finger as they touched.

 

“By the power vested in me, I proudly pronounce you married.  You may now kiss.”

 

Greg didn’t need to be told twice. Smirking, he practically flung himself forward into Mycroft’s arms, cherishing the brief look of surprise before their lips connected.  They formed together in a way they had for years, Mycroft’s hands sliding around Greg’s waist and pulling him as close as possible.  There was applause and cheers all around them, but they weren’t paying attention.  No, they gripped each other securely, kissing and breathing and laughing against one another’s lips. Finally, they split apart, Mycroft tilting his head down to rub the tips of their noses together before the small distance was put between them once again.  They turned to face everyone, who was grinning and clapping and crying, and Greg laughed happily.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mr. Lestrade-Holmes.”

 

Both men nodded to everyone, threading their fingers together and pressing close.  This was it. They were married. After a moment of standing, Mycroft took the first step forward and together, they walked back down the aisle, and finally, out of the room.

 

*

 

Finally alone, Greg smirked as he pressed close to Mycroft. They had gone into a small side room to have some private moments to themselves while their guests got settled into the reception area.  It was something Greg had insisted on.  Pressing his hands against Mycroft’s chest, he pushed him back towards a small sofa sitting in the middle of the room and turned them, falling back onto it with a bounce as he pulled his husband down with him.

 

“Gregory!” Mycroft called out in surprise, bracing himself so they didn’t completely collapse on the sofa.  Greg laughed brightly, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck and nuzzling his cheek.

 

“See why I insisted on the private room for a few moments?” he asked, running his nose along Mycroft’s cheek until he got to his ear, where he tugged the lobe in between his teeth.  The younger man let out a sofa gasp, clutching at Greg’s tuxedo jacket carefully.

 

“Yes, I do believe I am getting to see its advantages,” Mycroft huffed leaning closer and shivering as Greg sucked on his earlobe. “Good thinking, my dear husband.”

 

Hearing Mycroft say the word out loud was thrilling. Greg had a surge of warm flood through him, making him lightheaded and giddy.  He reached up to run his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, turning his head to the side so he could nip at his lips.  Mycroft smirked, shifting one of his slender legs in between Greg’s and pressing closer.

 

“Say it again,” Greg whispered, bumping their noses together as he sucked on Mycroft’s bottom lip, drawing a gorgeous noise from him.

 

“Husband mine,” Mycroft whispered, a bit breathlessly. It was Greg’s turn to make a little noise.

 

“Again,” he requested, finding he was utterly addicted to hearing Mycroft say the word.  It was so simple, and it was silly, but _god_ he couldn’t get enough of it.

 

“Husband.  Mine.” Mycroft slowed the words down, letting them settle even longer, and he pulled back to gaze down into Greg’s eyes.  They were both slightly flushed now.

 

“Absolutely perfect,” Greg sighed, tugging him back down for another kiss.

 

Neither one of them was sure how long they stayed in there for.  They kissed and touched and kissed some more, careful not to wrinkle either one of their tuxes, but not seeming to care as the touches became a bit more urgent.  It was when Greg started to shift against Mycroft’s leg that the younger man finally broke apart, panting softly.

 

“We should stop,” the younger of the two whispered, trying not to focus on the erection his new husband was starting to have. Self control.  He’d had it once.  He took a deep breath through his nose before running slender fingers through silvery hair and smiling gently.  Greg leaned into the touch with a sigh, letting his eyes flutter closed, but he nodded.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg agreed.  He would much prefer the alternative, as he wanted to celebrate their marriage in the _proper_ way, but he supposed the reception did come first. “I can’t wait to take you to bed tonight.”

 

“Neither can I, Gregory,” Mycroft smirked, eyes shining. Carefully, he pushed off and stood, straightening his jacket and brushing his pants gently. Greg sat up and stretched, pressing a hand against his crotch and adjusting himself a bit, focusing on getting calm once again.  He hadn’t been entirely aroused yet so it would only take a moment, but he wanted to be sure.

 

“Sherlock is bound to know,” Greg pointed out after a second, as they kissed gently for a final time before heading out.

 

“Sherlock always knows,” Mycroft sighed dramatically. Greg laughed loudly, and threaded their fingers together.  He tugged him toward the door, settling his other hand on the knob and glancing over his shoulder before twisting to open it.

 

“Come, husband,” he said dramatically. Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but chuckled gently. “Our public awaits!”

 

*

 

 “John, why do I have to be here if _they’re_ not even here?” Sherlock sighed, slumping in his seat a bit and frowning. Everyone was mingling, and it was annoying.  He crossed his arms loosely, until John kicked his shin, which caused him to sit upright again and glare.

 

“Stop pouting,” John sighed. “They just got married, Sherlock.  They want a few minutes. Please behave, and you know I’ll make it worth your while later.”

 

“Bribing me with sex is playing unfair, John,” Sherlock pointed out, though he did reach for his champagne and take a drink, before grimacing a bit.  John chuckled next to him.

 

“Like you’ve never bribed me with sex before,” the shorter man pointed out.  Sherlock hummed over his glass.

 

“Fair enough,” he smirked.

 

A moment later people began talking a little more animatedly, and then the cheering and whistling and clapping started. Sherlock blinked, before realizing that his brother and Lestrade had come in the room.  Instead of joining in on the celebrating, he drank more of his champagne and glanced at the two of them, before snorting.

 

“That’s what took them so long,” he commented, deducing immediately what they’d been up to.

 

“What?” John asked distractedly, grinning and clapping.

 

“Look at how ruffled Lestrade’s hair seems to be. Much more than just fifteen minutes ago. My brother’s face has hints of color to it.  They were getting up to a bit of their own activities, interesting.  A quickie before the reception?”

 

“Sherlock,” John warned, though he noticed what all was being pointed out.  Not that he could blame them.  Had he been in that position, John knew the risk would be there that he’d get a bit carried away too. It was an exciting time.

 

Greg and Mycroft made their way over to the straight table, where John and Sherlock were seated at one end.  They squeezed their joined hands a final time before sitting as well.

 

“I trust you are behaving, dear brother?” Mycroft couldn’t help but comment.  Sherlock snorted.

 

“More so than the two of you,” he responded pointedly, before getting another kick in the shin.

 

“I suppose that’s all one can ask,” Mycroft said instead, smiling softly as a few employees of the Luton Hoo finally started bringing food around.  There was salad with a variety of dressings available, some toasted bread and cheeses, and assorted vegetables that were brought first.  Parmesan-crusted chicken and roasted potatoes would follow that, for the main course. Then finally, of course, would come a mixture of wedding cake and assorted prepared pastries for dessert. A selection of champagne and wine was available as well, which the guests tended to get up to retrieve themselves, using it as an excuse to stop by and say a few words to either Greg or Mycroft before making their way back over to their table.

 

“God this is good,” Greg groaned halfway through the chicken.  Mycroft in agreement, being that he was currently chewing. “I need to try and make this sometime.”

 

“Something you will excel at, darling, I’m sure,” Mycroft smiled.  Looking past his husband, he noticed with pride and affection that Sherlock was actually eating the food set in front of him, with little scolding from Doctor Watson. It was pleasing. John had been such a good presence in Sherlock’s life, and Mycroft was certain that before long, the roles would likely be reversed and they would be the ones speaking vows to one another.

 

As if they were in sync, Greg noticed exactly the same thing.  Turning, he gave Mycroft a very knowing gaze, and the younger man just nodded and smiled. Reaching over, Greg took Mycroft’s hand and brought it up so he could kiss his knuckles, before both of them returned to their meals without having to exchange a word.

 

*

 

“Everyone?” John called out as he stood. “Yes, hello? Hi.”

 

The conversation died down a bit, everyone turning to glance at John, and he lifted his glass briefly in introduction.

 

“Most of you know who I am,” John smiled, holding his glass in both hands, settling against his waist. “For those who don’t, I’m John Watson, and I solve crimes with Holmes the younger.  I am also Greg’s best man.  So, in true wedding tradition, I’ve prepared a few words. Nothing insanely lengthy, because we’ve got plenty of other fun things to get to, but here we go.”

 

He glanced over at the couple in question, smiling proudly and affectionately at them.  Mycroft quirked a tiny smile and nodded, while Greg beamed back brightly.

 

“I met these two men on the same day, and let me tell you, it was a whirlwind of a day.  Meeting Sherlock Holmes isn’t always the best for one’s health.” John smirked and a few people chuckled softly, but he reached over to squeeze Sherlock’s shoulder to show he was kidding.  Sherlock glanced at him briefly, smiling one of those John-Watson-reserved smiles.

 

“Greg and I have practically always got on,” John continued after a moment. “He’s easily one of my best mates in the whole world. Mycroft… well, we’ve had an interesting relationship.  More of an understanding I suppose.  But it was easy to see, when the two of them were together, that things were different. Easier for me to see then either of them for a while.  Mycroft has always been a different person around Greg.  He’s been less defensive, and seeing him smile at Greg was the first time I’d ever seen a genuine smile out of him.”

 

Greg and Mycroft glanced at each other. Greg reached over and took hold of Mycroft’s hand, threading their fingers together and smiling. Doing so in return, Mycroft leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the older man’s forehead.

 

“Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes are brilliant, fascinating people.  Greg and I got swept up with them in the best ways.  Our feet fell out from under us.  I know how my life has changed for the better, so it gives me an idea of how Greg’s has as well. I’ve seen it.  I think we’ve all seen it.” John grinned at the few nods of agreement, and lifted his glass. “We’ve got cake and dancing and fun to move on to, so in closing, I just wanna thank everyone for coming today. We’re all here because we care about these two blokes, and I know each of you are just as happy and proud as I am to witness them finally tying the bloody knot.”

 

Everyone lifted their glasses and drank, John calling out the toast to Greg and Mycroft.  John glanced back at his chair, shifting to sit down, when he saw the movement of Greg standing a few seats down.  Blinking, he turned, and Greg walked over and tugged him into a tight hug.

 

“Thanks mate,” Greg whispered. 

 

“It was my honor, Greg,” John returned, patting his back. “”I’m so happy for you, and even happier I could be a part of it.”

 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Greg said as he took a step back, squeezing John’s bicep before turning to head back to his seat.

 

Setting his glass down, John settled back into his seat and glanced at Sherlock.  His partner was giving him a peculiar look that made him shift a bit self-consciously in his seat.

 

“What?” he asked after a second, blinking curiously.

 

“You’re a puzzle, John,” the detective said as cryptically as ever.

 

“Why?” John asked again, laughing a bit.

 

“Even at my brother’s wedding, you can’t resist but speak highly of me in your speech,” Sherlock muttered.  John’s confused eyes softened, and he sighed a bit, shaking his head.  Reaching over, he slid a hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and rubbing softly.

 

“You can be so clueless, you know,” he whispered, leaning in and pulling Sherlock close.  He stiffened for a moment, before letting himself be drawn into the kiss John gave him. “I love you, you brilliant idiot.”

 

“Those two words cannot logically sit next to each other as a descriptor in the way you just used them,” Sherlock pointed out, whispering against John’s lips.

 

“Just shut up and kiss me,” John said, rolling his eyes.

 

*

 

“No no, hold the knife here,” Greg whispered, laughing softly.  He shifted his grip on the handle of the knife they were holding, nodding at the space he’d created. “Right there.”

 

“This shouldn’t be so absurdly difficult,” Mycroft commented, hesitating before sliding his hand into place.  Their fingers pressed against each other, but after a moment, they had a steady grip.

 

“There we go,” Greg grinned. “Let’s cut this thing.”

 

Cake, wine, and then dancing.  That was basically what was left on the itinerary. Add a bit more socializing and then Greg could take his dear husband back up to his extraordinarily huge room and finish what they’d started earlier.  Poking his tongue out in concentration, they cut through a piece of the cake, until they finally got a slice out and onto a plate.

 

“I don’t know why we both had to do it,” Mycroft said as Greg cut the piece into smaller pieces.

 

“Because that’s the _point_ , goofy,” Greg grinned.  He nodded down at the cake before picking up one of the pieces and turning to face Mycroft more fully.  The younger man hesitated, before picking up his piece as well.  They both held them up.

 

“Shove it in his face, boss!” Sally called out, smirking. Greg laughed, and as it died down the look Mycroft gave him made him laugh even more.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Mycroft warned. Greg shook his head.

 

“Oh come now, I won’t.  Just wanna feed you,” he winked, stepping forward slightly. “Open wide, gorgeous.”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes playfully, but did as requested. Carefully, Greg leaned forward and pressed the piece of cake into the taller man’s mouth.  Mycroft hummed at the pleasant taste of vanilla and a hint of orange, with cream cheese frosting, chewing a bit before licking a stray bit of icing off his lip.  Then, he did the same, cupping Greg’s cheek with his free hand as he opened his mouth as was fed his piece as well.

 

Mycroft couldn’t quite understand why everyone insisted on clapping and cheering after everything they did like this, but perhaps it was just one of those wedding things.  Grinning a bit more brightly, he swiped his thumb along Greg’s bottom lip, wiping off some icing, before sucking it off.  He didn’t miss the way his husband’s lips parted just slightly and his breath hitched.

 

“You naughty man,” Mycroft smirked.

 

“Oh, like you didn’t do it on purpose,” Greg said with a blush, turning to snatch up his glass of wine. “Seductive bastard.”

 

“Yes, well, you’re the one who married me.”

 

“Damn straight I was,” Greg nodded, hopping up on his toes to kiss Mycroft sweetly.

 

*

 

Greg broke out into a surprised grin as Frank Sinatra’s voice started echoing through the room.  They had geared up for their first dance after sharing wine and giving everyone time to enjoy some cake, but Mycroft had kept it quiet the song he had chosen. In hindsight, it should have made sense that they’d dance to I’m Getting Sentimental Over You. They had done so before, and as far as love songs go, it was extremely fitting for the two of them.

 

“Of course I was going to pick this song,” Mycroft smiled, wrapping his arm around Greg’s waist and pulling him close as they swayed. Greg threaded their fingers together, clutching gently at Mycroft’s jacket and leaning his forehead against his pale, sharp jaw and closing his eyes.

 

“I’m getting sentimental over you,” Mycroft whispered, half singing along with Sinatra, turning his head to kiss his temple.

 

“Things you say and do just thrill me through and through,” Greg started singing, lifting his head to gaze up at Mycroft as he did so.   Mycroft tilted his head down a bit, pressing the tips of their noses together.

 

“I thought I was happy I could live without love,” Mycroft sang.  Greg loved hearing him sing. It was bloody rare, but for this, it was perfect.  Slender fingers stroked the shorter man’s side as he nuzzled him gently. “Now I must admit, love is all I’m thinking of.”

 

As the lyrics faded off and gave way to instrumental for the rest of the song, the two of them pressed close again, swaying and hugging each other tighter.  Greg buried his face into Mycroft’s neck and breathed in his scent, sighing and pressing a kiss to his pulse point.  Mycroft hummed.

 

“This is much more pleasant than I’d envisioned,” Mycroft whispered as he tilted his head towards Greg’s ear, lips brushing against the curve lightly.

 

“I’m glad,” Greg laughed, grinning up at him.

 

“Because of you, naturally,” Mycroft continued. He stroked Greg’s cheek, running along his jaw and then up and into his hair a bit. “It’s always because of you.”

 

“Thank you for marrying me,” Greg sighed happily. Admittedly, it wasn’t quite what he had planned to say, so he blinked a bit, but the younger man was smiling affectionately at him all the same.  He supposed it couldn’t be too bad, then.

 

“Gregory, thank you for… everything.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

They ended the dance kissing.

 

*

 

The reception went on for about another hour or so. There was more dancing, and Greg had to pinch himself when he watched as John and Sherlock got on the dance floor. Especially because Sherlock seemed to go out on his own free will.  That was a sight he never would have thought he’d see. 

 

As things started to wind down, it was focused more on the socializing aspect of the celebration.  The well wishes and the gushing about the ceremony and the venue and the congratulations.  Mycroft navigated all of it with flawless ease, and Greg was in awe of him, as always. He was given the proper introductions to the politicians who had come, hung out a bit with his Yard buddies, and then they were down to family.

 

Their parents loved each other.  They got on amazingly, which was both wonderful and a bit terrifying.  Even still, the night was drawing to a close, and Greg was ready to move on to a more private location.

 

“What do you say we get out of here?” he finally suggested, reaching over to pull Mycroft’s hand over and kiss the back of it. He gazed up at him through his eyelashes, grinning.

 

“Isn’t it customary that we remain while there are still guests?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow.  He was smirking, however, so it was clear he was thinking practically the same thing.

 

“Sod it, we’ll see them all at breakfast,” Greg shrugged. “Come on.  I’d very much like to take my husband to bed.”

 

“Well if you’re going to twist my arm,” the younger man said teasingly as he stood.  He gazed at Greg beckoningly before turning to say goodnight to their parents. Greg joined, kissing his mum on the cheek and hugging his da.

 

The two of them practically bee-lined up the steps and to the room Greg had used earlier to change.  The second the door shut, Greg’s lips were on Mycroft’s as he pressed the taller man up against the door.  Steady hands made quick work of the buttons of tuxedo jackets, and they reached to push layers off each other’s shoulders.

 

Greg pulled back, but before he could get far, Mycroft grabbed onto his tie.

 

“Where are you going?” he growled softly, and Greg practically groaned as he was tugged in for a fiercer kiss.  Mycroft was nipping at his husband’s lips in request, not hesitating to lick his way into his mouth the moment those lips parted. Greg shivered as their tongues brushed against each other, and he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck, gripping his hair and sliding his knee in between those glorious, slender legs.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft gasped, parting his legs and pressing down and against Greg’s with a smooth roll of his hips. Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s neck again, kissing and licking as he unbuttoned the offending shirt in his way and pulled it open.  Latching onto Mycroft’s collarbone, hearing the thud of his husband’s head falling back against the door.

 

“I’m taking you to bed, _husband_ ,” he muttered seductively, feeling Mycroft shiver underneath his touch as he tugged his shirt out of his trousers.

 

“Yes, please,” Mycroft sighed, biting his bottom lip as he moved off the door.  He leaned in to kiss Greg again as they shed out of everything but their trousers, clumsily toeing off their shoes and navigating around a sofa until the back of Greg’s knees hit the edge of the bed.  Equally eager hands were on each other’s trousers, unbuttoning them and working on dropping them.

 

They parted with gasps, nothing but their pants between them now, and Mycroft smirked.  Pressing a hand flat against Greg’s chest, he pushed him down onto the bed and stepped out of his trousers, tugging off his socks as he did.  Greg laughed happily, kicking his own off and propping himself up on his elbows, watching.

 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Greg asked gently, taking in the amazingly tall, pale body of his partner. His husband.  His eyes ran along the slender expanse of his shoulders, down his torso, running along the band of his dark blue pants and the erection it wasn’t even attempting to hide.  He couldn’t help but linger here, licking his lips unconsciously, before allowing time to scan down his slender, amazing legs.

 

“You say so often,” Mycroft replied, smiling in obvious disbelief.

 

“Because it’s true,” he smiled.  Stepping forward, Mycroft got on his knees on the bed and shifted up until he was straddling Greg.

 

“Then show me.”

 

Even if that hadn’t been the invitation to go ahead, Greg could not have resisted any longer.  He pushed himself up so he was sitting, their bare chests pressing together as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck.  They initiated another heated kiss, biting and sucking at each other playfully. Planting his heels into the edge of the bed, he lifted up and flipped them over so that Mycroft was spread on his back. The change in position made it easy for Mycroft to wrap those legs around Greg’s waist and pull him close.

 

Greg laughed happily, diving in to bite at Mycroft’s collarbone again.  He couldn’t help himself, he just loved it.  Sliding his hands down the taller man’s sides, he kissed his way down skin until he was nuzzling at the band of his pants.

 

“These need to go,” he declared confidently, pressing his face in to bite at the material.  Mycroft snorted a bit, but lifted his lips so Greg could curl his fingers around the waistband and tug them down.  Mycroft uncurled his legs so Greg could pull them off and toss them to the floor.

 

Leaning back in, Greg rubbed his nose along Mycroft’s hipbone.  He breathed deeply, kissing slowly down his thigh, listening to the soft whimpers coming from his partner as he got closer.  As long as he could hear Mycroft make noises like this his entire life, he’d be a happy person. Finally, he lifted his head a bit, grinning, and slid his tongue along the bottom side of his erection, licking from the base all the way to the head.  Mycroft exhaled shakily, gripping the bed sheet tightly and tilting his head back. Greg pulled back, before leaning in again to flick his tongue along Mycroft’s head, licking away the salty pre-cum that had gathered there.  His husband groaned, huffing out an almost desperate pant.

 

“Gregory,” he whined, stretching out a leg and digging his heel into the mattress.  Smiling softly, Greg repeated the motion, before settling his lips around and sucking _just_ enough for the pressure to be felt.  Mycroft moaned and shifted again, panting again lightly.

 

Mycroft always got rather impatient when they were like this.  He could never stand it when Greg teased him endlessly.  The younger man knew what he wanted, and in all other aspects of his life he had complete control, so there was a thrill to surrendering it in their bed. He did so, most of the time. However, when he did take control, Greg fucking loved it.  It was the best kind of forceful, and it was surrendering himself to those amazing slender hands, and it was loving, and it was perfect.  There would be plenty of that in the coming week, he was sure. But for now…

 

Wrapping a hand around the base of Mycroft’s cock, he pulled back to give himself room to give the shaft a few slow strokes. He twisted his hand gently, squeezing a bit more as he got up to the head, all in the way he knew unraveled Mycroft completely.  The noises that accompanied it were proof enough of that, and Greg was entranced watching his partner’s face shift in pleasure.  Like he’d said before, _beautiful_.

 

“Gregory, please,” Mycroft panted as the older man had leaned forward and taken his erection into his mouth again. He bobbed his head a bit, continuing to twist his hand as he stroked, listening to the pants that were increasing in speed. “Please, dearest, I… _aahhhh_ … I want you.  _Please_.”

 

Greg tried to force back a groan of his own at that. Mycroft begging was almost intoxicating, because he absolutely never begged.  He couldn’t take it.  His own erection was throbbing almost painfully with arousal at this point, and Christ did he want Mycroft too.  So, he straightened himself, stroking Mycroft again before climbing off the bed and stumbling over to one of his bags, fishing around until he pulled out the bottle of lube he’d packed.

 

 _Shoulda grabbed that before taking him to bed_ , Greg had been thinking, but as he turned with the bottle in hand, he almost stopped dead at the sight.  Mycroft was still sprawled out on the bed, but he had turned so that his head was nestled more comfortably in the mound of pillows. His legs were parted and one arm stretched out beside him.  The other… was stroking himself.  Greg bit his lip, watching as Mycroft stroked and squeezed his cock, almost lazily. He twisted as well, rubbing his thumb over the head and sighing as his eyes fluttered closed briefly when he did. When he opened them again, their eyes locked, and without saying a word or doing anything, Mycroft was beckoning Greg back over.

 

“Christ Myc,” Greg breathed, whimpering. The motion was lazy, clearly just biding time until Greg got in bed, but it made his knees weak.

 

“Why don’t you come back here now, my dear husband,” Mycroft whispered, his voice more rough and deep now.  Greg bit his lip.  He didn’t have to be told twice, so he strode across the bed, already uncapping the lube and he crawled across on his knees and settled in between Mycroft’s legs.

 

Only then did Mycroft release himself, shifting on the bed again and scooting down a bit more.  Greg loomed over him, unable to resist leaning down to kiss him roughly. He smeared the cool liquid he’d poured out over his fingers as he did, settling the hand between them, and he sucked on Mycroft’s lip as he teased his entrance with his index finger. He felt the younger man’s hips shift again, so he finally pushed the finger inside of him.  It went in easy, with years of practice behind them now, but Mycroft still groaned in relief and pleasure at the act. Greg continued to kiss him, moving to his jaw and neck and he slid the finger in and out, before pausing to add a second.

 

One of Mycroft’s hands had settled on Greg’s shoulder, and he gripped tightly, digging his manicured nails into tan skin. It sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. As he licked one of Mycroft’s nipples, he turned his fingers just a bit and pressed, causing Mycroft to practically yelp as he found his prostate.

 

“G-gregory…” Mycroft seemed to whine, rocking his hips down on the fingers in a steady motion and whimpering. “Stop all this nonsense and _fuck me_.”

 

Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.  He knew Mycroft loved this part of preparation just as much as he did, but he couldn’t say anything against the command. Taking his leaking cock back into his mouth for a moment, Greg pushed in again before removing his fingers completely. He straightened his back as he opened the lube again and poured more onto his hand, before sealing it and tossing it across the bed, where it bounced a few times and got out of their way. He coated himself, biting on his bottom lip as he stroked his erection.  Mycroft was shifting his legs, bending them and pressing his feet flat against the mattress, staring down to watch him with lust-blown eyes. Once Greg had finished, he wiped his hand off on the duvet and shifted closer, settling a hand on Mycroft’s waist. His husband shifted again, wrapping his legs around his waist and tugging him close so that they were practically pressed against each other.  Greg shuddered, shifting between them so that his head was pressed against Mycroft’s entrance…

 

Partially from his own motions, and partially because of Mycroft tightening his long legs around his waist, Greg pushed inside of him in one smooth motion.  They both moaned. Greg paused, getting used to the tight heat, before his grip on Mycroft’s waist tightened and he started to slowly roll his hips.  They didn’t need to adjust to themselves as much as they used to, being quite used to the sensation of the other buried inside of them, but it was still a moment to just appreciate and treasure the position they were in, as much as their patience would allow. Mycroft’s legs loosened after a moment, giving Greg more room to thrust, pulling halfway out before shoving back in again. Mycroft’s back arched, his head pushing down into the pillows, lips parted as he panted harsher.

 

The two of them got into a perfectly steady rhythm, moaning and touching where they could, Mycroft’s legs tensing against Greg’s back. There was a heavy heat in the pit of the older man’s gut that told him everything he needed to know, but as he reached down to take Mycroft’s length in his hand again, he was stopped.

 

“Wait,” Mycroft requested breathlessly, blinking his eyes a bit in attempt to focus. “I don’t want to come like this.”

 

“How then, love?” Greg managed to ask, stilling his movements a bit.

 

“Sit.”

 

Licking his lips, Greg pulled out of Mycroft completely and did just that.  He crossed his legs loosely when he was told to, and _oh_. Mycroft was getting up and crawling onto his lap, settling himself and draping his arms around Greg’s neck, before sitting down with perfect aim.  Greg moaned loudly in a bit of surprise as he slid inside Mycroft again. He hadn’t expected it. Mycroft was grinning, wrapping his legs around his waist again and rolling his lips as they adjusted to their new position.  His eyes were dark and hazy, and his dark ginger hair was messy, hanging in his forehead, and it was the sexiest thing Greg had ever seen.  Wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s torso, pulling him close so that their chests were pressing against each other, he kissed the man roughly as they fell back into their perfect rhythm.

 

Now, finally, once they were both trembling and moaning more eagerly, Greg slipped his hand in between them so he could wrap his hand around Mycroft’s leaking cock.  He felt Mycroft shiver as he began stroking, slowly at first, but quickly picking up the pace so it was timed better with their thrusts.  Mycroft was lifting and rocking eagerly, expertly, and Greg _knew_ he wasn’t going to last. But not before…

 

“Come for me,” he growled against Mycroft’s lips, nipping at them a bit.  He kept stroking and Mycroft kept rocking, trembling and panting and whimpering more than he had this entire time.  Finally, he could feel his husband’s movements becoming more erratic and desperate, and his breaths were coming out in harsh pants.  Hands that had been planted flat across Greg’s back curled, nails digging in again and dragging down, causing the older man to arch his back and moan at the pang of pain mixed with intense pleasure that flooded through him.

 

“ _Oh god_ ,” Mycroft moaned, clenching his teeth a bit as he rolled his hips desperately at this point.  Greg kept stroking, rubbing his thumb along his head and squeezing, and he could feel the man tightening around him.  His head was spinning. He wanted to fall and let it consume him, but not before Mycroft… No, when they were like this especially, Greg had to watch the posh, collected man come undone for him.  Crying out, he did just that.  Mycroft’s whole body tensed and his head rolled back, lips parted with Greg’s name on them as he climaxed, spilling sticky, warm moisture in between their stomachs.  Greg kept stroking him, sliding easier now with the natural coating, as Mycroft clung to him desperately.

 

They stared at each other, Greg finally moving his hand, and though he was trembling and spent, Mycroft continued to rock his hips into his partner’s thrusts as he leaned in for a heated kiss. It didn’t take more than a few more before Greg saw white creeping into the edges of his vision as he came as well.

 

“God, Myc,” he whimpered, both of them stilling as Greg tensed.  After a moment, his shoulders slumped as everything faded out of his body, and he pressed his forehead against Mycroft’s jaw, panting.  Mycroft didn’t move, arms and legs still wrapped around his body, and they just sat there and panted.

 

Finally, Mycroft shifted, lifting Greg’s head to kiss him sweetly.  The kisses were lazy, the urgency gone and replaced with bliss.  They kept kissing and nuzzling, and Greg even giggled a little bit. He was giddy.

 

“We should get cleaned up,” Mycroft finally whispered, his voice still a bit rough.  Greg was grinning, but he nodded.  As much as they didn’t want to, they pulled apart from each other with soft sighs, and Mycroft got out of bed to wander into the connected en suite across the room. Greg shifted, still a bit dazed, and just kept grinning at the bed.  Water was running, and a light was being turned off, and Mycroft walked back over carrying a damp, warm flannel.  He was already wiping off his own stomach, and as he sat back down on the bed he did the same to Greg.

 

They were silent as they tended to each other, wiping off as much as they could.  A shower would still be required, but neither man was quite ready for that, so this would do for now.  Taking the flannel, Greg dropped it onto the floor and crawled up so he was stretched out along the bed and settling his head into the pillows now.  Mycroft opened his mouth to protest the haphazard drop of the cloth, but ended up saying nothing and instead, joining his husband. They curled up with each other, tangling their legs together loosely and wrapping their arms around one another.

 

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about since we left the ceremony,” Greg whispered with a smirk.  Mycroft rolled his eyes, but it was playful, and they kissed lazily.

 

“I am well aware,” the younger man said against his lips, smirking. “You’re incorrigable.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Greg smirked. Mycroft shook his head and kissed him again slowly.

 

“No…” he commented. “No, I quite like it with you.”

 

“I know,” Greg whispered.

 

They continued kissing, even after a yawn escaped Greg, laughing softly and just basking in each other.  They had gotten married today.  As Mycroft threaded their fingers together, Greg couldn’t help but stare at the golden band standing out against their tanned and pale skin. It filled his heart with a joy that was almost too intense, and he stared at his husband who was easily starting to fall asleep.  He lifted his other hand to cup his cheek, causing pale eyes to flutter open and look at him again.

 

“The first day of the rest of our lives…” Greg couldn’t help but whisper.  Mycroft smiled, though there was a hint of his normal, you’ve-said-something-silly expression lingering there.

 

“I quite think that day was a while ago,” he whispered back.  Greg chuckled.

 

“Yes, I suppose it was,” he nodded, leaning in to kiss him again.


End file.
